A Thousand Lives
by AllThoseShadows
Summary: It's the 44th annual Hunger Games, and up until now 989 tributes have died at the hands of the Capitol. This year will mark over 1,000 deaths, and it's promised to be spectacular.
1. My Grand Finale

"Ladies and Gentlemen; Thalia Shadows, Head Gamemaker!"

The screams of the crowd are deafening. This is my last year, the year I retire. I've served my country for twenty-four years, the maximum amount a Gamemaker can work. I was the one who devised the magnificent arena the year after President Frans was assasinated. I managed the first Quarter Quell with ease. And now I get to control the one-thousanth death in the history of the Games, and it'll be a show for sure.

"Thank you, for that wonderful introduction. But fear not, this won't be the last you'll be seeing of me!" I speak into the microphone. "After all, I'm only forty-nine. I'll be visiting the Control Room long after I've retired!" More applause, shouts, and praise.

"Now, I know all of you are anxious for tomorrow's reapings, but you must be patient. Only nine more days until the gong sounds! Let the countdown for the Forty-fourth annual Hunger Games begin!"

I shake President Minerva's hand and she leads me into her mansion. Once the doors have closed behind us and the noise from outside softens, she places her arm around me and speaks quietly, so I am the only one who can hear.

"Did you get the list?" she asks.

"Of course. It is locked up safe."

"You reviewed the names?"

"Yes. This year's tributes sure do seem interesting."

"They are. Now, I've given you the tools for an unforgettable show. _Don't _disappoint me." With that, she walks away, leaving me behind with my first threat, trembling.

* * *

Back in my study, I go over the plans for the arena once more. They're brilliant... perfect... right?

_No, no, they're all wrong. The Cornucopia should be closer to the center, and maybe we should have more trees in this section here. Those cliffs are too steep. And the whole thing is too small._

Criticism runs through my brain into my pen, and I begin to make notes for the corrections. _Relocate, improve, tip, expand. Relocate, improve, tip, expand. Relocate, improve, ti-_

"Oh, stop fussing. It's genius." I look up to see my second-in-command, Cedric Alden, standing in front of my desk. I frown, unimpressed with his ability to enter a room unnoticed.

"You're sabatoging me. You want my last Games to be a failure. You want to make me a fool."

He laughs evenly, unfazed by my accusations. "Did Minerva threaten you?"

"Of course not. I expect too much of myself, I know. But it's the last time I'll ever wear this robe, and it _must _count." He doesn't buy it, but I don't care. I hardly ever tell him the truth. He can't handle it. There are cons to being Head Gamemaker, and in my opinion, they outweigh the pros by tons.

"No matter the reason, you mustn't worry. Get some rest. There are tributes to be reaped in the morning."

"I haven't watched a reaping in twenty-three years, Cedric." Again, he doesn't believe me. But this time it's the truth. The President picks them based on rebellious behavior, heritage, and school grades. Then she gives me the final list a couple days before the reapings. I wish she gave me a little information on them, though. That way I could design an arena to target their deepest fears. It would be magnificent.

"Well, I'm going to bed. But first, I think I'll indulge in a little hot cocoa. Care to join me, Thalia?" I nod, straighten the papers, and file them away. It will be good to get my mind off of the task ahead, and what will be the result of my failure.

* * *

Mm... Hot chocolate. It's warm, smooth, delicious.

I glance at Cedric. He's sitting, smugly sipping his own cup, as if having me here is a victory of some sort. Idiot. I know he slipped something into my drink. Not poison; he wouldn't kill me. But a drug of some sort, something that would disable my brain so he could tamper with the arena plans. No, he wouldn't kill me. Murder's too messy to cover up, and how would he humiliate me if I were dead?

Some may think he's clever. But I am more so. I had another cocoa made and switched the mugs while he wasn't looking.

You may be wondering why I'd choose a bonehead like him to be my successor. It was my own fault.

I had thought him brilliant in my first year as Head Gamemaker, when he suggested we install a pool in the training center so tributes could learn to swim. I appointed him my right-hand man that evening. Unfortunately, two tributes drowned on the first day of training. But once you've chosen your replacement, you can't turn back. Unless they die...

I don't know why I hadn't thought of it before. It'd be so simple. And besides, it's not like it would be the first life I've taken.

No. I can't. He's a good kid, no matter how much of a pain he is to me. He deserves this.

Wait, what am I saying? Of course he doesn't deserve it! He's trying to ruin me in my last year, for goodness' sake! But, despite my title as Head Gamemaker, I have a good heart.

"Well, thank you for this lovely beverage, Cedric," I say and stand to leave.

"You are most certainly welcome, Thalia," he says. His smile is sickly sweet, but his eyes are cold as ice.

"Enjoy the reapings," I say at the door without facing him. "And everything that is to follow. You will never outdo these Games."

* * *

I peer out my bedroom window at the shrieking crowd below. This city - no, this country never sleeps the night before the reapings, though I suspect the unrest in the districts is for completely other reasons.

The colors, the music, the celebration. It's beautiful. It's precious.

I close my eyes and think back to when I was little. Oh, times were so much simpler. The Dark Days had ended a few years before, the Hunger Games were new and exciting; keeping the districts in their place. I remember being eight or nine, sitting on our plush living room carpet and listening to my grandmother tell stories.

_"I was about your age when Panem was founded, you know," _she said_. "Your great-grandfather was one of the founding members of this country. He had lived through the Years of Despair and he knew what was right for us. He helped write the laws we live by today, Thalia."_

I looked up at her, wide-eyed. _"Did he write the Treaty of Treason?" _I asked. I remember my grandmother laughing and running her hand through my long black hair.

_"No, Sweetie. He died before the districts rebelled. It's a good thing, too. It would have broken his heart to see us go through what we did."_

_"Why did they rebel if he wrote those laws so perfectly?" _

I was a curious child. I had a compulsive need to know everything.

_"They didn't agree with his laws. They thought it was unfair." _I smile to myself and look out over my city. I don't remember much of what life was like before the Games. But if they thought _that _was unfair, they were put into their rightful place. Now, this my last chance to keep them there.

* * *

I'm startled awake by a pounding on my door.

"Thalia, it's your last year. You _must_ get up. The reapings are about to start!" Cedric calls to me. I rise reluctantly and open the door.

"Why do you care so much, Cedric?" I ask bitterly. It's 11:00. District One's reaping will begin in half an hour.

"Oh, Thalia. Are you... uh, well?" He obviously expected the poison to have disabled me by now.

"Yes, I'm perfectly healthy. Should I be otherwise?" He pauses, caught offguard.

"Um, no. You just seem... weary." I laugh, enjoying his distraught expression.

"Yes, well, I'm not _completely _immune to poison." His jaw drops and his eyes widen. He has no response. "Come in, anyway. We can watch them together."

I had the same food delivery system the tributes have in their rooms installed a few years ago. We order breakfast and it soon appears, piping hot.

"Well, Ladies and Gentlemen, it's almost time for the District One reaping to begin! But first, a special message from President Minerva!" says Giles Jonesman, the Hunger Games announcer. Julius Waxis, the Capitol's Head Interviewer, sits with the president on the stage where the tributes are interviewed.

I tune out the program now, because this "special message" is the same every year. When the president leaves the stage, it's 11:08. Julius goes on to say how it is my last year, and to fill the next twenty minutes, they will play a short re-cap of all my previous Games.

"This will be interesting to see," Cedric says, leaning forward. But I already know what happened each year.

When it ends, it's 11:28. District One pops up on the screen, and the camera does a quick swoop of all the waiting children. They look so frightened.

I smile. Let the Forty-fourth Annual Hunger Games begin.


	2. As we are Presented

**This is a story I started a while ago and am now continuing after a three-month hiatus. The tributes have been submitted, although there will be no more reapings, and I hope to see some reviews as I am skipping straight to the Opening Ceremonies in order to really get this story on a roll. **

**I see that Cashmere67, Dramione4evs, Green-Eyed-Rose, Lupus Overkill, Moonlight Resonance, desprx, and lucky97mary are still on alert for this story, and I'm hoping to see reviews from most of them (though this is listed as chapter two, and fan fiction won't allow you to review again under your pen name, you can still acknowledge that you read it via PM or reviewing while not logged in)!**

* * *

_Binary Richter, District Three_

My mentor is quite the character. Her name is Sabrina Bryant, and as the only victor to win her Games by stalking and killing eight tributes, she has been dubbed psychologically unstable.

And yet, she is mentally fit to mentor me. I see.

When we pulled into the station in the Capitol, she gave me a string of instructions; what to do and especially what _not_ to do when being prepped and on my chariot. It was mostly nonsense, though. Then she fluffed my curly, dark-brown hair and gave my cheeks a desperate pinch before shoving me out the train car door.

My prep team has just left me to my stylist. His name is Leo, and he wears lots of blue and silver, to match the shades of his hair and eyebrows. Other than that, I can't tell much about him. He dresses me in what appears at first to be a simple, floor-length bright yellow slip. Its thin straps nearly slide off my bony shoulders, but otherwise the dress fits perfectly. But then Leo has me step into a tight wire spiral that is the exact length of the skirt, and with just a press of a button the wire obtains a neon glow.

"You look gorgeous, Bi, gorgeous!" Leo claps twice, handing me sandals with the same golden glow, which I step into. I'm not crazy about the nickname he's given me, but it's better than some sickening pet name, like Darling or Sweetie.

"Thank you, Leo," I say, remembering my manners. If Leo speaks to his Capitolian friends about how cooperative and nice I am, I'm likely to get more sponsors.

"Oh, but we'll need to get rid of this," he says, reaching for the old, worn-out watch on my left wrist.

"Uh..." I say, putting my hand behind my back, out of his reach. "It's my token, so..."

"But it doesn't match the outfit," Leo insists, grabbing my wrist and taking the watch.

"B-b- but I- um..." I stutter, unsure of how to protest further. Leo smiles.

"Don't worry, Bi. I'll hold on to it for you. You'll get it back after the Opening Ceremonies," he says, Slipping the watch into his pants pocket. "Come now, we must meet Wyatt and Gemma."

_Mira Andrelo, District Six_

I stand among the other tributes. This is my first chance to get a real look at them. Of course, I saw the reapings. There were only a few tributes that really stuck out in my mind, like the arrogant girl from One. The pair from Four obviously have strong personalities as well. I'm smart enough to figure out that the Career pack won't last long this year.

The little twelve year old from Eight stuck out to me as well. What was her name? Esthere. Oh, there she is now, dressed in a plaid factory worker's dress. She looks so small compared to her district partner, Crow, who is quite tall and well-built.

My mentor, Darius Holmes, is the only District Six victor. He's young; he won the fortieth Games when he was sixteen. He's already an alcoholic, and not much help to Hunter and me. It sucks; the District Six tributes have never made it to the final eight in the history of the Games, and with the drunken advice of Darius given these past four years, they haven't made it to the final twelve, let alone eight.

Hunter taps me on the shoulder. I turn to him, and he nods toward the tributes lined up ahead of us. They've already mounted their chariots.

"It's almost time," he says, offering me his hand. I take it, glad to see that gentlemen still exist in this screwed-up world. He helps me onto the chariot before joining me. I grip the front of the carriage in vain, trying to steady myself. My head has begun to swim, my heart pound, sending blood rushing through my veins. It becomes the only noise I can hear as the chariot lurches forward and we become part of the tribute parade.

Our outfits aren't anything Panem hasn't seen in District Six before. I'm dressed in a promiscuous nurse's outfit, with Hunter as my male doctor partner. What little breasts I have are squished in a too-small bra and my body's curves are exaggerated by the short nurse's dress in a way that is designed to make me look desirable. My hair is twisted into a professional-looking bun, and I struggle to balance on six-inch heels. Despite his best efforts, I know Hunter sneaks a glance or two at my chest during the President's speech.

I just hope the cameras don't catch him.

_Hazel Evans, District Eleven_

I don't take an actual breath until the chariot has pulled safely into the ground level of the training center. Terra flips her dark red hair in exasperation. Neither of us are thrilled about being here, but I have a feeling there's another layer to my pretty district partner. She seems more annoyed at the Capitol than scared for her life.

We don't speak on the elevator ride. Well, she doesn't. I try a stab or two at conversation, but she shoots them down with silence.

In my room, I change into a grey tunic and jeans, because they're the closest pieces of clothing to what I wore back home.

Dinner won't be served for another half hour, or so the escort, Daniella Brooks, claims. I lay on the plush carpet of my bedroom, amazed at the comfort I feel. It's quite the improvement to the hammock I call home.

I stare at the high ceiling, fingering the black feather I brought as my token. It belonged to my pet mockingjay, Clue. Okay, so maybe she's not a pet, but she sure likes the apple trees between which my hammock is strung. She even built a nest. She's the closest thing to family I have.

Well, besides Kendra.

My mind gets lost in thought, as it often does. I think about strategy; training strategy, interview strategy, Games strategy. None of it does much good. All I can hope to do in training is gain _some_ knowledge of weapons and combat. Maybe make some allies. There's no hope for me when it comes to the interview. I'm immature (or so they tell me), but I'm really just light-hearted and fun-loving. I hope that comes through on-stage.

As for the arena, I'm at a loss. I suppose I should try to get high; after all, climbing is one thing I _can_ do.

But I have to get back to Kendra. So whatever my strategy ends up being, it has to work. I might not ave much to win for (probably a lot less in comparison to other tributes), but she only has me to look after her, the poor thing. Her parents were arrested for collaborating with rebels last year, and Kendra was left on her own. She needs me.

Persistence isn't one of my strong suits, but you can be damn sure I won't give up on my mission to victory. Even if I am only fourteen.


	3. The Wolf Pack

**Hello there! I hope anyone who reads this has the time to let me know their thoughts. Again, you can log out and review, or even PM me to let me know you read it! It will only take a minute...**

**A special shout out: thank you to TGPH for following this story!**

* * *

_Luciano Kellan, District Four_

I wake up early, too excited to sleep another minute. It's the first day of training, and for me, that means multiple things: I'll have the chance to show off and develop my combat skills, size up the competition, and insert myself as the leader of the Career alliance.

Of course, training doesn't start for another three hours, and breakfast won't be served for another hour and a half, according to the daily schedule that our escort, Edward Lowell, slips under our doors every night after we've gone to bed.

I pace my bedroom for a while in my Capitol pajamas. They're off-white silk, with _District Four_ embroidered in blue cursive on the left breast. So far, I think they're my favorite Capitol item.

After about thirty minutes of pacing, plotting, and admiring the many luxuries granted me, I start to get hungry. Luckily, this place has room service.

I order two chocolate croissants and a small cup of hazelnut coffee (a beverage I fell in love with on the train ride here), wasting no opportunity to indulge myself.

Of course, by the time breakfast is served, I've actually had my fill. So I sit silently, observing Alecsandra, Edward, and our mentors - Henrik Watson and Emil Royce - enjoy the feast that has been laid out.

Damn chocolate croissants.

_Colleen Jane "C.J." Colt, District Twelve_

It's cold in the training center. Goosebumps raise on my exposed arms as a draft travels throughout the room. I struggle to pay attention to the head instructor, who is going over each station, but I have too much on my mind.

Standing here among the other tributes, I'm surprised to find that while I may be among the youngest, I am not the smallest. There are two other twelve year olds, but they're smaller and seem weaker than me. The one from Seven, Felicity, must have some kind of growth deformity. I don't know her exact height, but she's at least six inches shorter than me, and I'm only 5'1".

The other one, Esthere, is mute. She signs to communicate, but I'm not sure how many tributes can understand her. I sure can't. That could come to her advantage in the arena...

I don't have any advantages. I know I'm going to die, and I suppose that's okay. It's too late now, anyway. I made my decision. It was the right choice. Wasn't it?

My parents would never have forgiven me, and I would never have forgiven myself, if I had let Lorelei volunteer for me. She wouldn't have stood a chance either (after all, she's practically a carbon copy of myself), but she _is_ the family favorite. She has much more potential than I do.

The head instructor lets us go, and I turn towards the rock wall. If I can learn to climb high and stay out of sight and off the ground, it will be my best asset in the arena.

The girl from Nine gets there first, and the instructor immediately secures her into the harness. I wait patiently, and as the girl begins to ascend the wall the instructor turns to me casually.

"You can practice on those trees while you wait," he says, gesturing to a handful of tall, artificial oak trees next to the rock wall.

"Thanks," I say. I choose a tree with low, thick branches and begin to climb. The shoes designed by my stylist do not have a great grip, and they slip on the trunk.

When I make it up six feet, I consider venturing higher. The Nine girl is making her way down, but her movement is slow and tedious. _Interesting,_ I think. _From behind, she kind of looks like a boy._

I stand, reaching my hands above my head to grab a slightly slimmer branch, which I hold onto as my feet crawl up the trunk. A strand of my light golden hair falls into my eye, and I use one hand to wipe it away.

My foot slides off the trunk and I flinch, tensing every muscle in my body. My other hand begins to lose its grip as well, and before I know it I'm plummeting toward the floor below.

_Terrian Cane, District Nine_

A shriek echoes across the training center. I glance in the direction of its origin: the rock wall. Some tiny tribute has fallen from a synthetic tree. A couple instructors from other stations hurry to help her. She can't breathe. They help her to her feet, as she seems to have no major injuries, and lead her out of the room for further examination.

I turn back to the knife-throwing station. After all, what do I care what happens in to anyone but me?

I pick up three daggers and flick them at the target dummy. One hits the arm, another misses completely, but the third dagger lodges firmly in the dummy's throat. I grin. This is going to be _fun_.

I practice with the daggers for a while more, until I can hit something vital almost every time. The head, stomach, chest, or throat. If I can throw them fast enough, the tribute won't even know what hit them.

I try with some larger weapons after that; sword, spear, even an axe. No good. The sword I'm okay with. It's like the sickle I used on my parents' grain farm, back home. I scan the wall of weapons for one, knowing how much damage I could do with it.

My eyes finally come to rest on a familiar curved blade. I involuntarily break out in a smile. Now _this_ is what I'm talking about. With a dagger, I'm dangerous. With a sickle, I'm _lethal._

_Alecsandra Sillago, District Four_

"Alecs? Yo, Four. _Hey_..." Someone whistles and taps my shoulder.

"Hm?" I turn to see the boy from Two, Achilles, grinning at me.

"Distracted, are we?" he asks playfully. I roll my eyes. I'd been watching the boy from Nine slaughter dummies with a strange, curled knife. He's good, which means he's a threat. I make a mental note to keep my eye out for him.

"Come on, let's fight," Achilles says, beginning to swing a blunted sword at me. Our district partners, Adele and Luciano, learn about hand-to-and combat from the instructor.

"Prepare to get your butt kicked," I say, grabbing a sword the same length as Achilles's. Our weapons clash two or three times before I get him in the stomach.

"Ow!" he cries, causing several heads to turn in our direction. "I'm okay!" he quickly adds, waving their worries away. I fold my arms. _What an attention whore._

Lunch is called, and all twenty-four tributes rush out of the training center. I was too excited to eat dinner last night, and I slept through breakfast this morning. I'm starving.

I sit with the pair from Two, but my district partner is nowhere to be found. I don't care, though. As soon as my bottom hits the chair, I dig in.

Eventually, Luciano does join us. Accompanied by Giselle and Lupus, the tributes from One.

"I didn't know we were having company," I mutter, annoyed by the girl's arrogant presence. It's bad enough that Luciano thinks he's king of the mountain.

"What was that?" Giselle asks, not without a boatload of sass.

"I said, 'Welcome to our group!'," I reply in mock excitement. Giselle smiles, presumably because she thinks I'm serious. Wow. I wonder if she felt that breeze as it went _right over her head._

After lunch, the six of us make a beeline for the combat station. The boy from Twelve is already there, however. Lupus suggests we try our hands at long-range weaponry, but Luciano, Giselle, and myself shake our heads, leading the others forward.

"Let's show this pathetic excuse for a tribute who runs this station," Luciano says.

_Channing "Chase" Keynes, District Twelve_

As I start to get a hold of using knives in combat, the Career pack (already formed, I see) decides to butt in.

"Fantastic!" the instructor says, clapping his hands once. "Now we can simulate close-range combat with more than two tributes! What fun!" I sigh, not excited about this 'fun' at all.

"Okay tributes, there are seven of you, so I need one of you to volunteer to sit out this one." I raise my hand, but the boy from Two is already walking away.

"You guys go ahead. I'll just... be over here!" he says, leaving me to face five well-trained, blood-thirsty Careers.

I need a drink.

"Split into two groups. It'll be three-on-three," the instructor says. Adele from Two and Lupus from One are my "allies".

We do all right at first, but the other three begin to get aggressive. The instructor told us to treat it like the Games, but if I was in te arena right now, I'd run for it.

Adele, who's only fourteen, takes the first lethal hit. The instructor shouts, "Dead!" and has her sit out.

No one else "dies", and the instructor calls off our little scrimmage after another ten minutes. I stay well out of the Career's way after that, taking refuge at the knot-tying station.

After training is over, I go straight to the roof, trying to cool off in the warm, humid air. It doesn't work.

Today, I injured my tailbone, been scratched by fingernails and acquired two floor burns. The balls of my feet are raw, I have an excruciating headache and am greatly dehydrated.

And the Games haven't even begun.


	4. Some are Lovers, Some are Fighters

**For this chapter, I tried to get into the emotional toils the tributes go through, rather than just talking about training, which can get boring. Everyone has a motive to win. At this point, who do you think deserves to go home the most?**

* * *

_Achilles Grate, District Two_

At training on the second day, I try to steer clear of the ruthless, power-hungry alliance that has already seemed to form. It consists of the pairs from One and Four, as well as my district partner. They're considering asking the boy from Nine to join them, after Alecsandra observed his skills with weaponry yesterday. It's not that they think he could be a great asset to them; they prefer to keep their enemies close. Why do you think the strongest tributes ally with one another?

To keep their biggest threats where they can keep an eye on them.

I know most kids from my district like to be a part of that group, but I prefer to fly solo. That way I can't be betrayed or abandoned, like that son of a bitch who impregnated my mother did. I hope he sees me in the arena. I hope he's watching, and when I win, I hope he's sorry he ever became a Peacekeeper.

Of course, if he hadn't left, I would never have dedicated all that time to training, and I would never have volunteered. I'd be home right now, hanging with Jason or Linus, or both. I'd be planning an epic date with Alexandra, maybe considering a proposal...

Oh, shit. Alex.

No wonder she was pissed at me at the goodbyes. I volunteered without telling her; I left her behind without a warning. We were seriously considering a life together and I just... threw it away.

Great. Now I _have_ to win. Or she's going to kill me.

_James Roy, District Five_

I finger the small magnifying glass that hangs on a chain around my neck. It's my token; I'll use it on sunny days to start fires. With it, I should never have to freeze. That's why I don't pay much attention to the instructor explaining how to find the best stones to help start fires. I don't need to know.

Instead, I study the Career pack. They're trying to learn archery, but the idiot girl from Two keeps loading the arrow all wrong, and none of them can keep it still on the bow long enough to shoot. When they do shoot, they only hit the limbs of the target dummy; nothing vital.

I smile. It's going to be oh so easy once the gong sounds. My strategy is to make the arena what it's designed to be for the Careers: hell. These hollow-headed tributes will never see it coming. I've already begun to plot how I'll do it. It's foolproof.

"James?" the instructor says, nudging my shoulder.

"Hm?" I look up, unaware that he had stopped talking. "Oh, right. I think I'll go over to the rock wall now. Thanks for all the help!" I say, walking away before the trainer can protest. I feel kind of bad, as I think I'm the only tribute who has gone to him today. No one ever thinks about fire-building.

I don't go to the rock-climbing wall, though. Instead, I head straight for the plant recognition station, which is a skill that could use a lot of improving.

Feeling a little guilty for lying, I peer over my shoulder to see if the fire building instructor is watching. He isn't; he's happily engaged with the girl from my district, Cari, who has sought him out.

By the time I can tell the difference between two nearly identical berries (one edible, the other deadly), it's lunch time.

I, of course, sit alone. The few tributes trying to make nice with one another are morons. Only one of us is going to come out of this alive. Allies will either slow you down or stab you in the back - literally. And I have a mission: become victor. Once that goal is accomplished, I'll finally live in a real home, and all the others can live with me in the Victor's Village.

None of us belong anywhere. Our parents were all killed in the same accident: the district power plant had some sort of emergency, and hazardous radiation killed nearly half of the employees. I didn't know any of the others before the accident, but we were all at the consolation ceremony, and afterward we congregated. None of us wanted to live in the district orphanage; we'd seen the kids that live there. The orphanage doesn't get nearly as much funding as it should, and the orphans often die before they turn eighteen.

So we formed a group. There's Ava, Charlotte, Matthew, Addison, Aria, Eli, Isaac, and myself. It's an even group: four girls and four boys. We live in the alleys of District Five, and we're thick as thieves. I'm the eldest, with the youngest being Aria at thirteen. Oh, how I miss them.

I have to win. None of them should be sleeping in the streets. And I may be their only hope.

_Terra Whiskart, District Eleven_

There's a clock on the east wall of the lunchroom. It ticks away slowly, _tick, tick, tick_. Counting the seconds until I'm thrown into the arena.

Counting down to my death.

That's what life seems to be all about, right? Holding your breath, counting. Counting the days of relative safety until the next reaping. Counting the seconds until the escort reaps that name and hoping, praying it isn't you. Then, if it isn't, you start all over again.

Or, that's how it was for me, at least. And it's still that way, I suppose. As of now, I have four days and twenty-two and a half hours of guaranteed life. They would never let a tribute die before the Games, right? At least, I've never heard of such a thing happening before...

I pick up my fork and stab blankly at the meatloaf on my plate. I've hardly been able to think since the reaping, let alone eat. My mother's ring catches the light and flashes as I stab. I look at it intently, as if noticing it for the first time (though I've worn it on my right middle finger every day since she died when I was six).

It's a simple silver band. Not real silver; the kind that turns your skin blue. But it's shiny, and throws off light when I move my hand. Inscribed on it are the words, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step." I don't know the whole story behind it, but I think my grandmother inherited it from some other ancient relative, and my mother inherited it from her.

Sometimes I think my older sister Laurel should have gotten the ring, that it came into my possession by accident. But Laurel refuses to take it.

I slide the ring off my finger and look on the inside. Never before have I needed the words that are inscribed there more: "Keep going."


	5. Warriors Travel in Armies

**This chapter begins in the afternoon of the second training day, since I left off at lunchtime in the last chapter, and ends on the third training day, because, honestly, each training day is about the same thing. Sorry for the extended length of the chapter that resulted from me speeding things along. I'm just excited to move on to the private sessions, scores, interviews, and arena!**

**This chapter has alliances, a bloodthirsty tribute, and- what's that? A hint of a subplot or two? I think so! What do you think of it?**

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_Klara Vanes, District Ten_

After lunch, I return the the knife-throwing station. Knives are my biggest asset, and though I know I probably shouldn't reveal my strengths in front of the others, I need to practice. I haven't thrown blades in a couple years, after my mother burned the set she bought me.

When my older sister, Amanda, turned nineteen and left, I was devastated. We were close, even though we're nine years apart. It killed me.

They teased me. The other kids. They said I was stupid for being so upset. They were right. I was stupid.

Stupid for believing that any form of happiness could last in this screwed-up world.

The knives helped me take out my anger. I'd throw them every day after school, and I got to be pretty good. It was a great outlet for me.

Still, Tanya Maire continued to taunt me until I couldn't take it anymore. I took a couple of my knives to school the next day and cut her. Not severely, just a slice or two on her arm.

Well, I never saw my throwing knives again. And I never heard the end of my 'little melt down' from anyone; not my parents, or my teachers, or the kids at school.

"Very nice," the trainer says, and I realize that I had been subconsciously sending daggers at target dummies as fast as I can, hitting something vital almost every time.

I turn, hoping none of the other tributes noticed. A couple did, but they belong to the weaker group of tributes. Other than them, no one seems to have seen.

No one except the boy from Twelve.

He's big, scary. He watches me with angry eyes, sending chills up my back. I don't drop his gaze, too disturbed to move. He looks me up and down before turning back to the knot he's tying. I shiver, trying in vain to shake the feeling that he wasn't just watching me because of my throwing ability.

_Clarence Swanson, District Seven_

"What's that?" My district partner, Felicity, has appeared beside me at the camouflage station. She points to my hand.

I look down. I've taken out the chess piece my grandfather gave me a few years ago, for my twelfth birthday. It's my token.

"A pawn," I tell her.

"Oh," Felicity says, her gaze trained on the piece. "My Dad used to say..." her voice trails off, cracking a bit at the end. I know what happened to her father. He won the 19th Hunger Games when he was fifteen, and was District Seven's first victor. When Felicity was reaped, he killed himself then and there, in front of everyone. Little Felicity was scarred for life, but has been given a determination to win that I've never seen in a twelve year old tribute.

I kind of hope she does well in the arena. But I know she most likely won't. I think she has some sort of growth defect, because she's only 4'5". And she's too innocent. She won't last a day in the Games.

Felicity takes a hard swallow. "My Dad used to say that all of Panem's children are pawns. The Capitol views us as expendable, things that don't matter."

I have to say I agree. We're here for one purpose only, and that is to provide entertainment. That's all we are: pawns.

No, we aren't all pawns. There are the Careers, the Kings and Queens. And the fighters, the killer tributes who aren't trained like the Careers, but are just as lethal: Knights. The intelligent tributes are Bishops, and the lucky ones, who make it past the bloodbath by sheer chance? Rooks.

We aren't people. We're pieces.

_Aviary "Ave" Starling, District Nine_

I struggle to make a suitable shelter for the given weather condition: blizzard. No matter what I try, the instructor is never satisfied.

"You won't last the night in that," she says, crossing her arms. "You'll be an Avesicle by morning."

Avesicle = Ave-Popsicle.

The girl from Three joins me at the station. She's 16; four years older than me, but not too much bigger. I try not to make eye contact with her. After all, we'll only be enemies in the end.

"What's your name, sweetie?" the instructor asks her, just as she did me.

"Binary Richter," the girl replies.

"Hello, Binary. I want you you figure out how to build a shelter on your own, with a little guidance from me. Build something that can keep you safe from sweltering heat."

Binary gets to work, while I try to improve my blizzard-proof, home-made tent, made from five long branches and a couple sheets of plastic. But I have no idea how to proceed from here.

"Great!" the instructor says. At first I think she's talking to me, but of course she isn't. Binary has already finished her shelter. She smiles and thanks the instructor for the compliment. I roll my eyes. Preventing a sunburn is a lot easier than preventing hypothermia, in my opinion.

"Here, let me help you," Binary says, taking a third sheet of plastic and overlapping it across the entrance of my tent to help protect from wind.

Of course! Why didn't I think of that?

"And we can lay down this fourth sheet to make a floor," I say, covering the bottom of the tent in a blue tarp.

"Now _that's_ more like it," the instructor says, giving our creation a thumbs-up. "You two work well together."

"Yeah, we do," Binary says, looking at me.

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them: "Do you want to ally?"

Binary looks surprised at the question, but I have the feeling she was thinking the same thing.

"Uh, sure," she replies. "I mean, yes. Let's ally."

_Cari Morae, District Five_

After lunch, I returned to the fire-building station, where I had _almost_ gotten ahold of how to start a flame.

I'm distracted, though. I watch bitterly as the girls from Three and Nine help each other learn archery. They giggle when the other screws up, but in a friendly way. I used to tease my friends like that, before they all decided that they hate me.

Why can't I ever seem to get something right? Every time I make a friend, they end up despising me. So what if I'm a little manipulative? Can't someone just accept me?

Of course, my manipulative personality is what makes me the perfect tribute.

I try hard to focus on the fire I've been trying to build, but I'm not in the training room. Physically, that's not true, but whenever I create a spark with the stones in my hand, I see the blaze that burned away my life.

_"Cari, wake up!" Mom shakes my shoulder, her voice urgent. "Get up, Cari! Get out!"_

_"What?" I whine, rolling over. I reluctantly open my eyes. It's still nighttime. My mother stands above me, her face covered in sweat and tears. _

_Then I see the smoke._

_It leaks into my room like a snake, slithering under the door._

_"Mom!" I say, sitting up and pointing at the black, poisonous smoke. She grabs my arm and yanks me toward my bedroom window, which has been opened as far as it will go; halfway._

_"Go," she says, pushing me out. I'm only twelve, and can fit through the small opening. "Run!"_

_My mother disappears in my room, swallowed by smoke. She can't fit through the window. My entire home is burning to the ground._

It was no accident, what happened to my parents. They were angry people, who didn't bother censoring what they said about the Capitol in public. I don't know who did it, specifically, but the fire was a teachable moment for me.

You can't trust anybody.

Not only did my parents die that night, but my soul as well. I no longer feel love because there is no one to love me back. Everyone who ever cared about me is either dead or I've lied to them one too many times, and they won't speak to me. But why do I give a shit? I don't. I'm going to kill every single one of these stupid tributes, one by one.

I am going to win these Games. And when I do, I'll raise all hell for the Capitol.

I'll make them pay for what they did.

_Giselle Lear, District One_

On the morning of the third day of training, Lupus and I meet up with the others. I already hate them. Lupus is alright. He's quiet and shy, and smart. He stays out of my way. But the others, Luciano and Alecsandra, they need to learn their place. This isn't District Four, where they let anybody be in charge. In the arena, our alliance is going to need a real leader. And that leader is me.

I should have known the others wouldn't see it that way. Alecsandra and Luciano argue about who is most suited to lead us every day. They disagree on just about everything. And I'm sick of hearing them fight all the time.

The one thing we can all agree on: Achilles is _not_ part of the alliance. He's annoying, and immature, and can't take anything seriously. To take his place, we've recruited Terrian Cane from Nine. He's strong, brutal, and an obvious threat to us. We need to keep him close.

Adele sneers whenever one of us makes a mistake. She's only fourteen, yet she thinks she can be a real bitch to all of us. One of these days, I'm going to chew her out. Or I'll just kill her.

It's not like she's any better at long-range combat than the rest of us.

Adele rolls her eyes dramatically when I step up to try my hand at spear-throwing. I turn to her, hands on hips.

"You have something to say?" I ask her, expecting a sarcastic response. But she just shakes her head.

"The boy from Five. He's coming over here," she says, pointing. We all turn. James Roy strides toward us, looking eager to join us at our station.

"What's our move?" Terrian asks.

"We kick him out," Alecsandra says. "He has no business training with us. And we were here first."

"I say we let him stay. Intimidate him a little," Luciano says. I sigh. I need to stop this argument before it gets out of hand and James sees them fighting like an old married couple.

"We'll do neither," I suggest, just as Alecsandra starts to respond. "We'll let him have his fun and come back when he's through."

"Why should we give it up to _him_?" Alecsandra asks, folding her arms. James arrives.

"Hey, guys." He greets us with a small wave and picks up a spear. "Mind if I join you?" There's a look in his eyes that gives me a funny feeling. I think Terrian and Adele sense it too.

"We were just leaving," Terrian says, walking away. Lupus is right behind him. I follow, agreeing that we shouldn't hang around crazy tributes. Adele trails behind me. When I look over my shoulder, Alecsandra and Luciano stand awkwardly at the station. I can't believe it. They're too proud to follow anyone.

Eventually, reluctantly, they join us at the weight-lifting benches. Luciano grabs a fifteen-pound dumbbell in each hand and starts flexing his biceps. Adele snickers.

"Ooh, big strong Luciano is pumping _thirty pounds._" Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Luciano staring daggers at the back of her head.

_Thalia Shadows, Head Gamemaker_

The tributes are mixing nicely with each other. Alliances between them makes for drama in the arena. Tears, calls for help, backstabbing, and awkward battles when two allies make it to the final handful of remaining tributes. Oh, what fun.

There is the recurring alliance between some of the strongest tributes, those from One, Four, the girl from Two, and the boy from Nine. Then we have Terrian's twelve year old district partner, who has allied with Three's Binary Richter.

Achilles, the cast-out boy from Two, has made friends with fourteen-year-old Hazel Evans of District Eleven. They seem to get along quite well, from where I'm observing. They laugh often.

And, of course, a shy, intelligent alliance. It's made up of Wyatt Moore, the boy from Three, the pair from Eight - Crow and Esthere - and Terra Whiskart from Eleven.

That leaves ten solo tributes. As a Gamemaker, my biggest hope for tributes who aren't in an alliance is that they are on some mission of revenge or are simply angry, bloodthirsty teenagers. We reap at least one child who has lost a loved one in the Hunger Games every year, to give the Games an interesting twist. The tributes always hope to avenge their friend or family member's death by killing the tributes from the district who killed their loved one.

It makes for good television.

This year, that tribute is Channing Keynes, the boy from Twelve. We've been planning for him to enter the arena for three years now. We reaped his best friend _and_ his girlfriend for the 42nd Games, and made sure both of them died. The poor boy was a wreck after that. He's deteriorated from one of the most handsome boys in the district to a sullen, angry eighteen-year-old. We tested him. It was his last year eligible for the Games, and we reaped his girlfriend's brother.

Channing did just as we expected him to. He volunteered for him, seeing it as an opportunity to save a life and avenge the ones that were lost.

The districts call us sick. We call ourselves brilliant. I look forward to tomorrow, when we get to see what each tribute can do, and what they can't do.

And after that, we make the finishing touches to a perfectly engineered arena designed to make every single tribute earn their survival.


	6. Winning Scores are Meaningless

**Guys, I feel terrible for letting this next chapter take so long, but I'm sure you all know how busy it gets this time of year, with sports and final projects and upcoming exams... I hope this makes up for it!**

**Please vote on the poll I have up on my profile for who you think is going to die in the bloodbath! There will be six bloodbaths, so you have up to six votes.**

**I didn't write many actual sessions because I think the scores matter a lot more, and after a while the training sessions get repetitive. Also, I'll be skipping the interview "prep time", since the actual interviews are what you really want to read about, right?**

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_Adele Carisen, District Two_

I'm not exactly thrilled about the private training sessions. I want to stand out, obviously, but I don't have strengths in any unique departments. I can handle knives and spears well enough, and I have good endurance. I wonder if a tribute has ever run around the training center for an entire session.

I hum quietly to myself during lunch on the third day. They'll be calling in Lupus soon for his session. He doesn't appear nervous. In fact, none of my well-trained allies seem to have a care in the world about their training scores. But me, being the youngest of the pack, my score will have to impress them if I want to live.

When Lupus is finally called in, he makes eye contact with Giselle and holds her gaze for just a second before standing and heading into the training room.

I haven't really thought much of Lupus since arriving in the Capitol. He's quiet, shy. But I've seen him with an axe, and with one of those in the arena he could be deadly.

After Lupus is Giselle. She strides into the room like she owns the place. I wonder how her arrogance will come across to the Gamemakers. Will they view it as confidence and admire her, or will they think she's overcompensating to cover up her deep-seeded insecurities.

My money's on the latter.

_Felicity Owens, District Seven_

I dread the moment when the mechanical woman's voice calls my name. It won't be for a little while; James, the boy from Five, has just started his session. But everyone seems to be confident in their strategy, whereas I'm at a complete loss as to what I'm going to do for the Gamemakers. I suppose I could paint myself a little; I have some skill in the camouflage department. But what else...?

The girl from Five is called, then both from Six. Soon it will be my turn. My district partner, Clarence, slowly makes his way toward the door. I hope he takes his time once his session has begun as well.

Unfortunately, it only seems like a minute has passed before my name is being called. I walk into the training room and Thalia Shadows, Head Gamemaker, greets me with a nod. The rest of them observe me quietly.

I can tell the other tributes may not have been very exciting, because they all have a glazed look in their eyes, like they could use a long nap.

We all could.

I walk to the camouflage station and paint my arm to look like a grassy meadow, with a few flowers. I frown. It looks cartoonish, childish. I decide to try something else, something I have even the slightest bit of confidence in.

I suppose I'm pretty good with a spear, so I throw a couple at some targets, but only one makes contact. The other sticks up in the training room floor, ten feet from where I stand.

I decide to throw knives until they dismiss me after that. I just hope I had enough skill to earn something more than a two.

_Wyatt Moore, District Three_

After my private session, wich I'm not particularly proud of (all I did was build a shelter and give the Gamemakers a mini lesson on wild plant safety), I order a stack of waffles and eat them in my room, resting.

"Wyatt, we'll be eating dinner soon," calls my mentor, Declan Price, from outside my closed door, just minutes after I've licked the last of the maple syrup off my plate. Declan was my mentor before I was even reaped, and we've grown close over the three years I've trained with him.

"And the scores will be on any minute," Declan adds. I join him in the hallway, and he smiles. He knows my competitive spirit is bigger than my appetite.

I met Declan when I was twelve. He was the only victor in the district who would help me train and prepare for the Games. As I grew up, I saw eighteen year olds who had trained for years win easily each year, and I thought to myself, "Why shouldn't I be able to train as well?" So on my twelfth birthday, I knocked on the doors of our district's three victors, asking to be taught everything they knew about surviving the Games.

Declan, the youngest victor, happily agreed. He'd been watching his mentees die for a few years at that point, but still hadn't gotten used to it. He wanted to do all he could to give me my best shot, in case I was ever reaped. Going to him was the best decision I ever made.

In the sitting room on the third floor of the training center, Declan and I join the others: Binary, my district partner; Leo and Gemma, our stylists; Sabrina Bryant, Binary's mentor, and Cecily Beaudoin, our escort.

Almost immediately after we sit down, the television automatically turns on, and the training scores are revealed.

_Crow Wynters, District Eight_

It begins with District One, as always. Lupus gets a ten. His district partner, Giselle, scores a nine.

Achilles Grate from Two is given a ten as well. Strange, I never really saw him as one of the stronger tributes. Though he's eighteen, he just always came across as a goof-off.

Adele, the sour fourteen year old from Two, only gets a five. I'm not surprised; she's tiny.

My ally, Moore, gets a seven. I smile, truly happy for him. I also know that a good score like that means more sponsors for us. The girl from Three, Binary, gets a six. They both did pretty well.

The last two Careers, the pair from Four, come next. Luciano scores lower than was perhaps expected: a seven. Alecsandra gets a nine.

James Roy, whom I never paid much attention to, scores a seven. So far, no one has been given anything under a five, which makes me optimistic about my approaching score.

Cari, the girl from Five, follows James. She gets a five.

_Reedman Philips, District Ten_

I roll my token between my thumb and forefinger. It's a bracelet, made of two small ropes intertwined. One is green, the other yellow. It doesn't have any sentimental meaning to me, but it was all I could think of to bring.

My father, Taurus, tries to encourage me. "It'll be alright, Reed," he tells me. "I'm sure your score will be stupendous!"

"Doubt it," is all I say back. My father won the 16th Hunger Games; he's been a mentor for a long time. "At some point, all you can do is try to keep their hopes up," he once told me. I recall that conversation now, knowing he's only trying to keep me from losing my will to live.

The District Six boy, Hunter Petrelli, does well with a seven. His district partner gets a seven as well.

All these adequate scores make me suspicious. I can't remember so many tributes doing so well in training.

Clarence from Seven gets a five, and Felicity Owens gets a four. Finally, some lower scores. All I need to do is get more than a four...

Crow Wynters scores another seven. Esthere Lumanti gets a three. I'm not surprised by this. The disabled tributes always do poorly during training. And Esthere is mute.

_Esthere Lumanti, District Eight_

My heart sinks when I see my score. A three? What will that mean once I'm in the arena? Will I get any support from sponsors? Will my allies desert me or kill me because they don't think I'm worth keeping around?

I'll have to really nail my interview if I want a chance to get sponsors. Luckily, I'll be given a computer for my interview, so I can type responses to Julius Waxis's questions, rather than having a sign language interpreter, like some mute tributes have had in the past.

Terrian Cane, the brutal boy from Nine (the one who joined the Careers) gets a ten. Aviary Starling, one of the four twelve year old tributes (the others are me, the girl from Twelve and the girl from Seven), scores a three, like me. I'm glad. I really didn't want to be the only one with a low score.

Next up is the boy from Ten, who gets a five. Klara Vanes, the girl from Ten, gets a two. I breathe a sigh of relief. I don't have the lowest score. A thirteen year old does. Now I can relax a little.

_Hunter "Hunt" Petrelli, District Six_

I'm satisfied with my score: seven. I can work with that. I hardly even pay attention to the other scores, but jump back in as they announce the District Eleven boy, Hazel Evans. He's given an eight, which comes as a surprise to most of us watching. I wonder what he did to get that score...

Terra Whiskart gets a seven, like many others. At this point, I'm beginning to think my score isn't so special.

The large, sullen boy from Twelve gets a nine. His little district partner gets an eight, which is even more shocking than Hazel's score.

After the announcer, Giles Jonesman, bids us all goodnight, District Six's support team moves to the dining room, where our dinner awaits. I dig in to the feast: dinner rolls with fettuccine alfredo and white wine. But by the time I've cleaned off my plate, the rich dish begins to settle and I think I'm going to be sick, so I run to the bathroom in my bedroom and vomit up everything I just shoveled down my throat.

_Lupus Falkland, District One_

I cannot wait for my interview. Everything has gone smoothly since I've arrived in the Capitol. I've managed not to tick any one of my biggest threats off, scored well in training, and am ready to show the Capitol my mysterious, dangerous side.

Giselle won't sut up about how it isn't fair that she only got a nine, that I cheated somehow. How could I have cheated?

I told her that maybe, just _maybe_, I was better than her. She opened her mouth to say something snarky to me, but I walked away and locked myself in my room.

Okay, so maybe I've made _one_ enemy.

I stare out of my bedroom window. The view isn't that great; we're only on the first floor. But it means I can get a better look at what's going on with th Capitolites outside, and I have to say, I like what I see.

After the scores were announced, a lot of them placed bets on who would die first and who would be the strongest. I think I'm being bet on as one of the strongest. At least, I hope I am.

It's only ten of nine when I turn out my light, but it's been an exciting day, and I need my rest.


	7. Beloved, Cold-Hearted Tributes

**The Interviews, Part I**

**Hi! So, I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter! Whether you reviewed or not, I'm just glad you guys are reading my story. I see that there have been a couple voters on my poll, so thank you to whoever has voted, and if you haven't voted, please do! The top results may end up actually being the bloodbath, so now is your chance to vote off any tributes you don't really like!**

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_Thalia Shadows, Head Gamemaker_

Everyone in the Capitol is buzzing about the training scores. We gave seven sevens to the tributes this year. It was no coincidence. Each year the tributes are hand-picked, and their scores are controlled as well. Scores mean a lot to the audience, as well as the tributes. Tributes with low scores aren't paid much attention to, while those with high ones are viewed as threats. Those with adequate scores are right in the middle.

The medium scores are just part of my plan to make my retirement Games incredible. Every year, I must have threatening tributes recognized with high scores, but this year I'm giving most of the tributes a chance to make a splash with the audience. Sixes are average, but sevens and eights are unusual for non-trained tributes, in most cases. So, with so many high scores, it raises the stakes for those tributes to prove themselves to interested sponsors.

That means more fighting, scheming, and bloodshed. High scores give tributes a desire to live up to it, and they always perform better in the arena.

Julius Waxis walks onto the stage, all smiles. His teeth are especially white this year. They catch the stage lights and reflect them, practically sparkling.

"Does everyone know what time it is?" Julius asks the audience. They scream replies at him, hysterical. It's the night before the Hunger Games. Of course they know what time it is.

"It's time to meet our first tribute!" More screams come from the audience. Julius lets them settle down before introducing Giselle Lear of District One.

She emerges in a shimmering gown. The silver, strapless bodice reflects a thousand points of light at once. I wouldn't be surprised if it was embroidered with real diamonds from her district. The floor-length, purple skirt flows out beautifully as Julius takes her hand and twirls her. Her curled blonde hair spins with her, and she giggles maniacally.

Julius starts by asking about Giselle's family. She proudly tells us about her mother, victor of the 14th Games.

"Yes, we know her. Chiffon Lear, isn't it?" Julius asks. Giselle smiles and nods. "Your mother was very beautiful when she won," he goes on, pausing for a moment before leaning in close to Giselle and adding, "I see the resemblance."

It's an insignificant comment, small-time flattery, but the audience cheers for Giselle's beauty nonetheless, because they know the prettiest tributes are also the deadliest.

"I know, I'm gorgeous, aren't I?" Giselle replies, flipping her golden locks over her shoulder. The audience screams their agreement.

I guess she isn't the modest type.

Giselle then goes on to tell the Capitol about her loving twin brother Glint, who she knew was going to volunteer this year to protect her, but she wouldn't let him. The audience "awwws".

Then she goes on to tell us about her father Jericho Lear, who left her family to serve his country as a Peacekeeper. Julius, doing his best to make Giselle look like a poor, abandoned little girl, sheds a heartfelt tear.

She's running out of interview time, so Julius steers the conversation toward the Games.

"So, tell us, Giselle: what do you think your biggest asset will be in the arena?"

"Well, obviously, I'm very dangerous. I did score a nine, didn't I? But weapons, training, and allies aren't going to be what makes me victor, Julius."

"No? Then what?" he urges, leaning in.

"My determination," Giselle says. "I'll do _anything_ to win. I'm a Lear Legacy, and I have to follow in my mother's footsteps, don't I?"

"You certainly do," Julius says, nodding. Giselle's buzzer rings, and they both stand. Julius kisses both her cheeks in farewell, and introduces her district partner, Lupus Drive Falkland.

_Noelle Minerva, President_

The shy boy from One walks onto the stage wearing a simple black suit, black shirt, and bright blue tie. He shakes Julius Waxis's hand and takes a seat. Personally, his looks don't strike me as particularly handsome, but the blue of his tie really bring out his striking pale blue eyes, which I can see all the way from my Presidential booth.

"So, Lupus, you were one of the few tributes to score the highest tribute score anyone's ever received: a ten. How do you think you managed it?"

"Oh, I don't think I'm allowed to say..." Lupus says, a mysterious tone in his voice. "But I will tell you this: I've trained for that score for eight years of my life; since I was _ten_. If I'd gotten anything lower, I wouldn't have known what all that training was for. Imagine wasting almost half of your life preparing yourself for the biggest moment of your life, and falling short?"

"I can't even _imagine_," Julius says, shaking his head. "What would you say are your best qualities, the ones that will help you most tomorrow?"

"I'm stealthy, and I'm not afraid to kill. I know my fellow tributes may have gotten a false impression of me these past few days, but I just want to clear the air: I'm not someone to forget about." As he says this last part, Lupus leans forward in his chair and directly adresses the audience. They applaud.

It's time for Adele Carisen, from Two. She enters the stage a bright ball of flames. Her bright orange dress catches the eye of everyone watching, captivating them. The skirt is short in the front and long in the back, revealing gorgeous silver heels. She flashes a gorgeous white smile directly at me. I grin back, impressed by her boldness.

I have to say, for a fourteen year old Career, Adele sure has a strong personality. She looks like a sweet young girl, but she answers every question with a hard tone and doesn't reveal much about herself. She lets it slip that her all-male family practically forced her to volunteer for the Games, but deep-down she always wanted to be a victor.

The only thing we are all absolutely sure of by the end of Adele's interview is that she is not the kind of girl to be taken lightly. But in my opinion, she's just overcompensating.

_Cedric Alden, Vice Head Gamemaker_

After Adele Carisen's interview comes Achilles Grate. He impressed us all during his private session. He cracked a couple jokes, made us laugh, and then demonstrated some incredible strength and weapons skills.

Tonight, he comes out in a blue dress shirt, black tie and jeans. And sneakers. Care-free, confident. He compliments Julius on his sunset orange hair, and Julius returns the favor by commenting positively on his training score.

"A ten! I don't know about you, but I surely wasn't expecting _that_ from you. You seem like such a nice boy, it makes me wonder what deadly tricks you have up your sleeve?"

"Not many, Julius. I'm just a confused kid looking for some recognition in a great nation," Achilles replies, smiling and nodding at the cheering audience.

He spends the rest of his interview telling us about his life. He, too, was abandoned by his father, who went to work as a Peacekeeper, leaving him, his mother, his sister, and his three brothers to fend for themselves.

"It's been hard, but we were able to manage," Achilles says. "It'll be different, if I win. They'll never go hungry again." _If I win_, he said. _If._ I think that's the first time I'd ever heard a District Two tribute say that word in their interview. They're usually all so confident.

He then goes on to talk about his best friends, Jason and Linus. And, finally, his girlfriend Alexandra.

"Alex," he says, his voice cracking. He puts his head in his hands, taking a moment to collect himself. "I'm so sorry I left you, Alex. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll do my best to win, and I'll come home to you. And then we can be together... for the rest of our lives."

A close-up monitor shows a single tear roll down his cheek. "I love you," he whispers. It seems like all of Panem is silent for him. No one moves. I know everyone watching is feeling deep sympathy for this worthless tribute, but I feel nothing except boredom. Every year, we have to listen to all these sob stories about true love and struggling families and how every tribute has to win for so-and-so.

Ah, the perks of being Vice Head Gamemaker: I usually make sure those kids die quickly. I can't stand their hopeless, pathetic life stories.

Achilles's interview ends, and the audience goes wild for him. I roll my eyes. The cute new intern is watching me. I mouth the words, "Kill me now," and she giggles. I summon her with my finger, and she comes closer.

"How about you and I get out of here," I whisper to her. She looks at me, wide-eyed.

"And go where?"

"I can show you my office. I just got it redone." She smiles, intrigued.

"Are we allowed to leave like that?" she asks.

"Not really, but these interviews are always a snooze-fest. I need a little excitement in my life." She purses her lips, and I offer her my hand. After a minute of consideration, she takes it, and I lead her away from the noise as Julius Waxis introduces the next tribute.


	8. An Abundance of Personalities

**The Interviews, Part II**

**All I hope for is that you keep reading, and please take the poll on my profile, if you haven't! Save your favorites from dying in the bloodbath, or vote to kill off the ones you don't care for!**

* * *

_Julius Waxis, Games Interviewer_

"Please join me in welcoming Binary Richter to the stage!" I clap along with the audience as Binary, looking stunning in a short, sparkling blue dress, takes her seat next to me.

"Hello hello," I say, and she gives me a sly smile in response.

"Hi," she says. "How are you tonight?"

"I'm very well," I answer. "And you?"

"Fantastic," Binary says.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" I ask.

"Of course. I'm prepared for _anything_, Julius." I can sense the approval of the audience. It isn't common that a female from District Three is so eager for the Games. Binary is even more of a surprise, though, because she seems to have a plan; something she isn't telling us.

"Have you made any friends among the other tributes?"

"Yes," she says simply. I raise my eyebrows.

"Like, who?" I ask.

"Aviary. The girl from Nine. We bonded."

"The twelve year old?" I ask, honestly not expecting an alliance with a four-year age difference. "Have you agreed to help her in return for... something?"

"No, I genuinely want to team up with her. She's fairly mature for her age, and I like her strong attitude."

"Interesting," I say. "Tell us about your family, Binary."

"Well," she starts, taking a breath. I can tell I've hit the spot; asked the question that pains the tribute most. Usually, this involves their family or the arena.

"I lost both of my uncles in the Games. I wasn't born yet, of course, but my mother is still scarred by their deaths. They were in the 11th and 14th Hunger Games. Neither of them made it to the final eight."

"How heartbreaking," I sympathize, placing my hand on her knee. She nods, takes a hard swallow, and continues:

"And my father died of heart failure when I was seven."

"Oh, that's terrible..."

"Yes, but I think it may have been necessary for this time in my life. I mean, my experience with death and grief has prepared me in a unique way for the Hunger Games. You know, since in two or three weeks all but one of us will be dead."

There is almost dead silence from the audience. Not everyone picks up on Binary's true message, but most do. She didn't say it as a fact, she said it as an accusation.

And surely the Gamemakers will not let her live because of it.

_Chiffon Lear, __Victor of the 14th Hunger Games: _District One Mentor 

_Yes, the weakling boy from Three,_ I think to myself during Binary's interview. _I remember killing him._

After Binary comes her district partner, Wyatt Moore. His slim, tall figure is dressed in a grayish-brown suit. He wears it awkwardly, not accustomed to looking nice.

"You know, Wyatt, you remind me of your mentor, Declan Price," Julius says after he initially greets the tribute. I swear, for a moment, terror flashes in Wyatt's eyes. He finds his Declan in the audience, sitting just four seats away from me, and makes eye contact. Declan gives his tribute just the slightest nod, and Wyatt immediately recovers.

"Yes, I've noticed that we're very similar too. I think it's our common intelligence that sets us apart from, well, your typical tribute/mentor relationship."

"Well, it certainly isn't unusual for District Three tributes to be intelligent," Julius says. "And you're no exception."

"Yeah, everyone from Three certainly is a nerd," I whisper to Kenneth Shea, my fellow District One mentor. He smirks.

"Declan's done a great job at helping me prepare for the arena," Wyatt says. "Thanks to him, I actually feel confident."

"He won't last the bloodbath," Kenneth says in my ear. I nod in agreement.

After Wyatt, Alecsandra Sillago is introduced. I have to admit, her stylist actually managed to make her presentable. Her broad shoulders don't stick out so much in her strapless, floor length pink dress, and her many training scars are hidden well with cosmetics.

"Alecsandra," Julius says, running his eyes down her dress. "You clean up nicely." He sounds surprised. We all are.

"Thank you," she replies, monotone. Well, her stylist may have done his best, but nothing can be done to improve her personality.

"What have you most enjoyed about your stay in the Capitol?"

"Everything." For a moment, it seems like that's all she has to say. But her brain must kick into gear, because she changes her mind. "I mean, how could I decide? The food is definitely worth dying for, and who wouldn't love these clothes?" Her smile is forced, which I know won't play well with the audience.

Alecsandra does better during the rest of her interview. She asserts herself as a lethal component of these Games. I find myself actually looking forward to seeing just how dangerous she turns out to be.

_Declan Price, Victor of the 33rd Hunger Games: District Three Mentor_

I'm proud of Wyatt; he pulled through. I couldn't stress enough to him how important the interview is. He understood, which is great. I have high hopes for him; he's one of the most intelligent tributes I've mentored. He knows more going into the arena than most of his competitors. He has an advantage.

Luciano Kellan is next, dressed in a white blazer and white pants, with a light blue dress shirt. It's silk.

"You look very handsome tonight, Julius," Luciano says in a seductive voice. The audience chuckles.

"So do you, Luciano. And I'm sure a good looking young man like yourself has someone special to win for." Julius is trying to play the sympathy card. It happens every year, whenever he asks about tributes' families or friends. One of the most powerful assets in the arena is pity.

"No one in particular, no," Luciano says, looking at the audience. "I've had... _many_ admirers over the years." He winks at some girl in the audience, and she squeals.

And so his interview goes for the remaining time. He does well with the Capitolites. I don't know if he's smart or just lucky, but by making the audience believe he loves them, he has made them truly love him.

Cari Morae sticks out in a bright yellow gown for her interview. She doesn't talk much about her family or life at home when asked. In fact, she comes off as rude, callous.

"Really? You have no family back home?" Julius asks, trying to get her to give him _something_. While it _is_ his job to make the tributes look good, he can't do that when the tributes do nothing to benefit their own reputations.

"That's what I said, isn't it? They were killed, okay? And whoever did it tried to make it look like an accident, but I know it was murder."

"What about friends? Don't you have _someone_ cheering for you back home?"

"No. They all hate me now. After my parents were killed, they slowly began to despise me."

"I wonder why," I say under my breath. Margaret Connelly - Mags, as she likes to be called - giggles. She's older than I am by almost 30 years, but she doesn't seem like it.

I can feel my heart rate increase as she looks at me with her beautiful blue eyes. I smile, nervously. It's been almost a year since we "accidentally" kissed at the 43rd annual Hunger Games kickoff party, which all victors are invited to each year. Since then, neither of us have breathed a word of it, but I think about that moment all the time.

Many people find my attraction to such an older woman strange, but Mags only looks about ten years older than myself.

James Roy, the boy from Five, looks much different than when we last saw him publicly, at the Opening Ceremonies. His long hair had been cut (I'm surprised they didn't do that when he first arrived here) and he is dressed in black slacks and shirt, and a red jacket. He talks about home without choking up, which was impossible for me when I was in his shoes.

"I have... friends. Really good friends. They're like my family. I spend all of my time with them and... I miss you guys. I promise, I'll see you soon, and all of our problems will finally be solved."

They're mysterious, this group of friends, but Julius doesn't ask anything more about them. James is absolutely confident in his interview. He will surely gain sponsors for this quality.

"He looks like you," Mags whispers. I grin.

"Is that a good thing?" She doesn't say anything, only raises her eyebrows and gives me a smile, a wide, goofy grin. Her teeth are stained yellow, a result of her refusal to whiten them.

I still think she's beautiful.


	9. Shine Bright, Fake Happiness

**The Interviews, Part II****I**

**I love all the votes on the polls! Thank you all so much!**

**I'm trying to help move the interviews along, so the interviews might be shorter so I can fit more in. Sorry if it feels like your tribute isn't getting as much "air time" as some others.**

**What do you guys think of the interviews so far? Anyone you especially like or dislike?**

* * *

_Margaret "Mags" Connelly, Victor of the 8th Hunger Games: District Four Mentor_

Mira Andrelo is dressed in a floor-length green gown with gold trim. She looks stunning, like royalty.

Like me.

I wore that exact same shade of green on the night of my interview. My hair, though it isn't black like Mira's, was loosely curled as hers is tonight. I wonder if – no, my stylist wouldn't be working here anymore. I'm not even certain Pascal is still alive.

Mira tries to open with a joke, but it only evokes a few chuckles from the audience. I laugh, though only out of pity.

"So what about alliances, Mira?" Julian asks. "Have you made any?"

"No," Mira says confidently. "Heading into the Games head-on and solo is my strategy. I possess skills that other tributes don't, and I can better access these skills without an ally holding be back."

"Interesting. So, you see allies as burdens, rather than advantages?"

"Exactly," says Mira. "You become emotionally attached to someone you know will have to die in order for you to win. Then you're left with three options: to betray them, to leave them, or to stick with them until one of you dies. Personally, I prefer none of the above."

"That's smart thinking, Mira," Julian says. The audience applauds their agreement, though somewhat half-heartedly. I know from experience with Capitolites that alliances are viewed as pure entertainment: drama, betrayal, emotional deaths. What more could you ask for in a television show?

After Mira, Hunter Petrelli joins Julian on stage wearing a shiny, silver suit and black tie. The stage lights reflect off of it, making him sparkle.

His angle seems to be charm; he often winks and smiles at the audience. In fact, he may be charming them too much. It becomes clear that after the first two minutes of the interview, each grin is forced and he starts winking with his left eye (I assume this is because his right eye got tired).

Unfortunately for Felicity Owens, the audience is _not_ impressed with her dress; it's nearly an exact replica of Cari Morae's yellow gown. She tries to make up for it, though, by playing the cute angle. She's a tiny thing, no taller than four and a half feet, and cute as a button. She is sweet and shy, like all twelve year old tributes.

Julius tries to talke her up for the audience. He tells her that a four in training is a blessing in disguise, that it means the other tributes won't see her as a threat.

"I'll even bet my pocket watch that you haven't shown off all your talents yet. I'm sure you'll surprise us all tomorrow," he says, giving her a too-white smile. Felicity shakes her head.

"I know I'm not allowed to talk about it, but trust me, they've seen it all. I don't have any special talents or hidden strengths. I am what you see here, on the stage tonight. Nothing more."

"Well, that's just fine," Julius says. "Because the girl I see in front of me now is a courageous, beautiful young lady. And when you come out of that arena alive, I'll give you my pocket watch during your Victor's interview." Felicity blushes, and the audience cheers. I catch a couple mentors from other districts roll their eyes.

Julius knows as well as the rest of us that Felicity Owens has little to no chance of survival.

_Taurus Philips, Victor of the 16th Hunger Games: District Ten Mentor_

I clasp my hands in front of me, as if in prayer. Reedman's interview is approaching fast, and though I was fortunate enough to mentor him myself, I'm still a nervous wreck. My son, _my son_ is in the Hunger Games. He's a tribute. He is going to the arena tomorrow. He only scored a five in training. He may not make it out alive...

I stop myself before I break down, like I have every night since Reed was reaped.

The next boy, Clarence Swanson, makes several failed attempts at humor. He struggles with the audience's affection; once he has it, he says something dumb and loses it. Following Clarence is Esthere Lumanti, the mute twelve year old from Eight. She is also petite, only a couple inches taller than that other girl, Felicity. She has long blonde hair and bangs.

She looks like my wife, Allele. Well, not exactly like her. Esthere has green eyes, not hazel. And Allele is about a foot taller. But, still. Maybe I should talk to Reedman about allying with her...

Well, I would have asked him to ally with her. If she hadn't just told Julius that she's already in an alliance with Wyatt, the boy from Three, her district partner Crow, and Terra Whiskart from Eleven.

Okay, so she didn't _say_anything. The computer on her lap does. She types her answers quickly and efficiently. I wonder if she's always known to type that well, or if her mentor trained her in that as well.

Crow Wynters comes after Esthere. He is kind, and I think everyone watching his interview genuinely begins to like him. He's clever and witty, and everyone – including me – is eager to see what he has in store for tomorrow.

We're rooting for him to survive.

Up next is District Nine; just one district before Ten, before my son has to get up before the entire country, with his mild autism and poor speech, and convince his killers that he is worth their sponsorship. It isn't easy to do, but it is crucial. It's the only way I made it out of the arena; help. I didn't have any allies, but I had sponsors, and my district partner died early in the Games, so my mentor didn't have to distribute the sponsor money between us.

Aviary Starling – who insists we all refer to her as Ave – talks about her alliance with the girl from Three, and how much she hates the extensions her stylist put on her head. I can't say I'm surprised; her thin blonde hair was cut short and choppy when she was reaped. Something like that, especially on a girl, is unacceptable in the Capitol. Now the tomboy from Nine has thick light blonde curls extending to her shoulder blades, and I don't think any amount of pulling from Ave will get them out.

Her district partner, Terrian, is a callous boy. He brags about his score of ten in training, and how he has allied with the Career tributes, and how he is the most brutal tribute the Capitol's ever seen. I seriously doubt the latter, because I've met his mentor, Alyss Swan. And if she is anything, it's lethal. And possibly mentally unstable.

Klara Vanes, the thirteen year old from Ten, is up next. She's in a blue babydoll dress that matches her eyes. Her brown hair is french braided, and shines with several small sapphires placed in the braid.

She seems cool, keeping up with Julius and the conversation smoothly. Her interview flies by without a stitch. The Capitol is impressed with her ease. I sigh. It's time for Reed. I watch from the second row of the audience nervously as he joins Julius at the front of the stage.

His interview strategy is to play it cool. Well, that's what we talked about. But immediately, my son makes a joke. It's cheesy, but not enough so that it's cringe-worthy. He evokes a general laugh from the audience, and that gives him confidence. He handles the rest of his interview gracefully, answering each question with a laid-back attitude.

Cool.


	10. The Race Towards Death

**The Interviews, Part IV**

**The poll is doing wonderfully, so thank you to all who have voted! If you haven't voted yet, it closes when the next chapter goes up, so hurry and do it!**

**I've been disappointed in the lack of reviews I've received. Thank you to SakuraDreamerz for his/her continued loyalty to this story.**

**This is the last of the interviews! Next chapter: the Games!**

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_Eleanor Royce, Victor of the 15th Hunger Games: District Twelve Mentor_

Terra Whiskart seems likable, but not enough so as to earn sponsors. In fact, whenever it looks like she's about to smile, she stops herself. Her dark red hair covers part of her face, and she never meets Julius Waxis' eyes. She's reluctant to answer questions and shifts in her seat often. I'm grateful I don't have to mentor her. Difficult tributes are almost always impossible to aid once they've entered the arena.

Still, Terra seems clever, and that's a plus.

Hazel Evans, the boy from Eleven and Terra's district partner, is fourteen. He acts seven. Honestly, I can't imagine what Daniel Child and Annie Proctor – Eleven's mentors – will have to do to get these two sponsors. They may not do anything. They may have already given up on them.

I try my best not to lose hope for my tributes, but it gets harder with every year, especially with me being the only mentor for Twelve. It's stressful, and heartbreaking. This year, with a twelve year old, it's especially hard. And I like C.J. She's not the sweetest little girl I've met, but she also stopped her sister from volunteering for her, which, in my book, is the same as taking your sister's place willingly. She's noble, and I like that about her.

It'll be extremely difficult to watch her die.

Channing Keynes is a little easier to handle. He's eighteen, and a fighter. I can see the determination in his eyes. He volunteered for these Games; he's the first volunteer Twelve has ever had, and probably the last. I don't know for sure why he did it. I suspect Channing volunteered because he seeks revenge of some sort. He's an incredibly angry boy, but he's told me about his abilities and I believe he has something to offer these Games.

"Are you ready for tomorrow, Hazel?" Julius asks. Hazel shakes his head.

"Seriously? Uh-uh. No. How can anyone _ever_ be prepared for the single most important moment of their life? If I make one wrong move tomorrow – just _one_ – it could mean my demise."

At least he's honest. I have to give him that.

Following Hazel is Colleen Jane Colt. The first thing she says to Julius is, "I prefer C.J. Please," she quickly adds. The interview strategy we're going for is charming and elusive. C.J. has a strong personality, however, and I'm worried that charming may come off as sarcastic. And the Capitol detests sarcasm, especially about the Games.

C.J. does not reveal much about her family when asked, just as we'd discussed. She told me about Lorelei, her twin sister, and how everyone in her family – including her four other siblings – preferred Lorelei over C.J. It's incredibly sad, and even more so since C.J.'s closest friend, Tallie, died in a tragic accident in the district three years ago. After that, C.J. lost nearly all of her desire to live.

But she doesn't tell Julius or the audience any of that. She talks about her twin sister's best qualities, and to give Panem an idea of how hectic her home life is, she names all the residents of the Colt household: Rosa and Devin, her parents; Derrick, the oldest; Dana, the second-oldest; Ruthie, her younger sister, and Kyle, the youngest of the clan.

Perhaps the idea of so many mouths to feed will earn her sympathy sponsors.

Channing is not so mysterious. In fact, I've never seen him so happy. He's usually grumbling about something, sullen and hostile. But not tonight. On stage, Channing is actually smiling. He charms the audience effortlessly, even acts flirtatious.

"So," Julius says, and I know what's about to come. "You volunteered for these Games, Channing."

"I did," he replies, his face darkening for a moment before returning to its laid-back expression.

"The boy reaped was Michael Ferrell. Do you know him?"

"Not personally, no. I knew his sister, Lili."

"Lili Ferrell. That name seems so familiar..." Julius says. I can tell he remembers Lili, knows he has met her before.

"Because she was a tribute. In the 42nd Hunger Games. She didn't win." Channing has lost all of his previous demeanor. His face is stone, emotionless. But his eyes are full of pain.

"Were you close to Lili?"

"We were dating," Channing says softly. He doesn't mention Leon, Lili's district partner that year, and Channing's best friend. It was a terrible year for him, he told me on the train. I don't remember who killed my tributes that year, but I'm sure he does. And he's out to shed blood in their name, to win in their memory.

"Well, Channing, I wish you the best of luck tomorrow, as well as every other tribute we've spoken to this evening. Remember to tune in at ten a.m. to see all twenty-four of these tributes try their luck in the arena! I'm Julius Waxis, wishing you all a very happy Hunger Games!"

_Giselle Lear, District One_

My last meal in the Capitol isn't anything special; a steak in a pool of gravy topped with mushrooms. Lupus loves it; he finishes his plate in ten minutes. I can't eat, though. I'm much too excited for tomorrow. I doubt I'll be able to sleep, either.

I excuse myself from the table and go to the bathroom in my bedroom. In the mirror above the sink, I study my still-painted face. I haven't showered yet, though I know I'll have to before going to bed tonight. My make-up consists of strictly purple and silver hues. My hair is curled in large ringlets. I'm pretty, but in the Capitol sense. Personally, I prefer natural beauty.

My stomach is in knots as I undress and step into the shower. I let the rhythmic pulsing of the water beat against my back, massaging the tense muscles. I choose vanilla oatmeal body wash and a fruity shampoo. The result is baby-soft skin and citrus-scented hair. I opt not to use the automatic hair brush, which sends a current through your scalp, smoothing all knots and drying your hair simultaneously. Instead, I dry off with a towel and let my hair drip onto the floor as I get dressed in warm cashmere pajamas.

I look at the clock on my bedside table; 10:37. In less than twelve hours, I'll be in the arena. My mind races to different landscape possibilities, who I'll be positioned next to on the pedestals, ow big the bloodbath will be.

In twelve hours, I could be nothing more than a lifeless body, bleeding out after the betrayal of one of my allies. It could happen; none of us trust each other any more than we trust the other tributes. In fact, I should trust Luciano, Alecsandra and Terrian less than Lupus and Adele, though I suppose they're all capable of deceiving me into trusting them.

I shake my head. What a ridiculous thought. I trust no one but myself.


	11. Our Cage

**So, here it is, the start of the Games! I really do hope you all tell me what you think! I apologize in advance for the length of this chapter, but please try to read it and review!**

**After this chapter is posted, the poll on my profile will close, and a new one will be up, where you'll be able to vote for which tribute you want to be the spectacular one thousandth death of the Hunger Games! I appreciate everyone who voted on the last poll, and encourage all my readers to vote on this new one.**

**Thank you to SakuraDreamerz for her continued support of this story, and lucky97mary for her encouragement of my writing. It's readers like you who keep me writing, so thank you from the bottom of my heart!**

* * *

_Thalia Shadows, Head Gamemaker_

I stand in the Control room, my arms folded across my chest. A wall of screens show seventeen angles of my masterpiece. I focus on the aerial view; a five mile wide, fifteen mile long stretch of ocean is the eastern border. The shore is a thin strip of sand leading to a grassy hill, which leads to the main plane of the arena. A few yards from the curve of the hill is a half-oval of metal plates, where the tributes will rise.

The Cornucopia is set further from the plates than usual; about half a mile west. Its mouth faces away from the tributes, with scattered supplies strewn toward the trees that mark the edge of the clearing where the bloodbath will happen.

The fastest, most brutal tributes will be placed near the ends of the half-oval, with the small, weaker tributes trapped in the middle. There is no way out, no cover except the thick forest that doesn't start until you reach the Cornucopia. To the north, completely smooth cliffs rise at a 90 degree angle a mile above the ground. To the south, an equally steep drop onto what appears to be sharp rocks, but is actually a specially engineered magnetic field that repels the tributes' outfits and sends them flying back onto the plane.

The west border of the arena is simply a wall of boulders that are impossible to climb without equipment.

The largest monitor, which shows the national broadcast, is showing candid shots of the thick woods, which consist of only one type of tree: pine. They are identical, with thick trunks and low branches abundant in pine leaves. They'll provide good cover, which will help make the Games last longer. My goal is to have a two-week minimum running period.

The picture on the screen switches to the swamp located in the southwest corner of the arena. It's a murky wetland with tall grass and rotting logs, as well as the essential quicksand.

After the country has had a good look at the arena, a long list appears on the monitor. There are twenty-four slots. The tribute rankings. Based on score, odds, and popularity, every tribute is listed. Their rankings are very important to gamblers, but have never meant anything to me. Still, this year, I try to get familiar with the rankings, which will change as tributes begin to kill (which brings a tribute closer to the top of the list) and fight for survival (a tribute struggling to stay alive will rank lower than those easily living off the land).

As of now, at 9:14 in the morning on Day One of the Games, the rankings are as follows:

_1. Terrian Cane, District Nine._

_2. Channing Keynes, District Twelve_

_2. Alecsandra Sillago, District Four_

A tie. I wonder how common those are...

_3. Colleen Jane Colt, District Twelve_

I squint at the screen, wondering if my eyes read that correctly. The pair from Twelve are in second and third place? Well, no matter. I'm sure they'll drop by tonight.

_4. Terra Whiskart, District Eleven_

_4. Hunter Petrelli, District Six_

_5. Achilles Grate, District Two_

_5. Lupus Falkland, District One_

_6. Giselle Lear, District One_

_7. Hazel Evans, District Eleven_

_8. James Roy, District Five_

_8. Wyatt Moore, District Three_

_9. __Binary Richter, District Three_

_____10. __Esthere Lumanti, District Eight_

I can't help but wonder where Luciano Kellan is. He always seemed the most brutal tribute, in my opinion. I'd expected to see him in the top ten, but I suppose a Career scoring as low as seven could hurt your ranking quite a bit.

_11. Crow Wynters, District Eight_

_11. Mira Andrelo, District Six_

_11. Luciano Kellan, District Four_

Oh, there he is. He missed it by one, the poor boy. I'm not worried, though. I know he'll prove to be very entertaining in the arena.

_12. Cari Morae, District Five_

_13. Reedman Philips, District Ten_

_14. Aviary Starling, District Nine_

_15. Clarence Swanson, District Seven_

_16. Klara Vanes, District Ten_

_17. Adele Carisen, District Two_

_18. Felicity Owens, District Seven_

Hm. Quite a few ties we have this year. Four, to be exact. I want to ask if that's normal, but then I'd risk looking foolish in front of the other Gamemakers, including Cedric. And we couldn't have that.

_Achilles Grate, District Two_

I fiddle with the zipper of my grass-green windbreaker as I wait to be launched to my probable death. I didn't check the rankings, nor do I really care what place I'm in. It's not like it matters, anyway. Tributes are killed off either way, whether they're in first or last place.

Under my windbreaker is a pale blue t-shirt made of material that my stylist says is supposed to dry my skin of sweat quickly, so I should expect hot days and cool nights because of the windbreaker and the black pants made of the same sleek material. My shoes are standard black and green running sneakers.

A woman's voice tells me to enter the glass tube, through which I'll enter the arena. I walk slowly, trying to control the shaking that has come over my entire body. I step onto the plate just in time for the tube to close around me and begin to rise.

I feel incredibly claustrophobic in the small space as I ride up, up, up into the gray light. The sun is up, naturally, but the sky is nothing but dark clouds. It doesn't take long for my eyes to adjust, and when they do, I can immediately see the trap the Gamemakers have set for us.

I've been placed around the center of the gentle curve of plates. To my right stands Klara Vanes, the thirteen year old. To her right is Clarence Swanson, who always wears a scowl. To his right, Binary Richter, the small girl from Three. To my left, it's about the same: Cari Morae is next to me, but there isn't a weak tribute on the other side of her. Terrian Cane, big and glowering looks right at me. Winks. I turn away, searching down the half-oval of tributes for my ally, Hazel.

I know my minute must almost be up by the time I find him. He's to my right, third from the end. Felicity Owens and Adele Carisen stand on either side of him. I see this as reassuring and try to catch his eye, but there are about a dozen tributes between us. I'll have to get him before he runs toward the Cornucopia, looking for me.

This idea becomes especially important when I see who stands at the end of the half-oval of tributes. Luciano Kellan, the large, arrogant boy from Four. He scored low-ish in training, but I've seen him with weapons, and I know that the only way he'd get a seven is if he was _trying_ to get a seven.

Luciano's eyes run down the line of tributes, and I have no doubt he's picking out the easy kills, the small and weak, who will have trouble getting to the Cornucopia before he does.

Luciano sees Felicity, who stands just four feet to his left, and smiles. She's very small, and is making no effort to hide her terror.

As soon as the gong sounds, I fight my way through the tributes running toward the weapons, food, and forest to get Hazel. Luciano takes less than five strides before reaching poor little Felicity. He picks her up swiftly and raises her high. She screams, her limbs flailing, and he drops her. She hits the ground with a _thud_ and lies motionless. I don't know if she's dead or just unconscious, but it doesn't matter at this point, because my ally is Luciano's next target.

Hazel has been sprinting toward the Cornucopia since the gong rang, and I've been running diagonally, trying to catch up. I'm bigger and faster than he is, luckily, so I reach him before he gets too close to the fighting.

"Hazel!" I shout, reaching my hand out and grabbing his sleeve. He turns, slowing his pace. "Don't... stop!" I gasp, out of breath. "Keep... running! Luciano... Luciano is coming... for us!"

He nods and returns to a sprint. We're both winded by the time we reach the Cornucopia, but our adrenaline is pumping far too hard to stop now.

We dodge most of the tributes, who are, for the most part, preoccupied with running away or fighting each other. Hazel's forearm is sliced by a knife that's thrown in our direction, but it doesn't kill him, so we keep running.

I slow just long enough to pick up a white pack off the ground, and thirty seconds later Hazel swipes a coil of rope from the hands of a dead tribute, who lies near the edge of the clearing.

Once we're in the cover of the forest, we pause long enough to check for pursuers. We have none. Luciano must have gotten distracted by the weapons piled high the in mouth of the Cornucopia and let us go.

We speed-walk through the woods. A muscle cramp has formed below my right lung, so I clutch it and focus on catching my breath.

I don't know how long we walk, only that we don't stop to rest until we hear the cannons, signaling that the bloodbath is over and the surviving tributes will be resting from the fighting.

Hazel and I are no exception, and we sit on the damp forest ground, leaning against a wide tree trunk.

_Cillian Alger, Vice President_

A yawn escapes my lips just as the gong sounds. I'm not too impressed with Shadows' arena. I do, however, like the way she's lined up the tributes. It's sure to draw blood.

Twenty-four teenagers fly off their plates in all directions. Most run toward the Cornucopia, but some – the tributes near the ends of the half-oval, who are closer to the cover of the woods – head straight for the forest; Reedman Philips, Mira Andrelo and Hunter Petrelli all make it to the invisible line where the trees start in the north and the west, and the Cornucopia sits in the middle.

Mira bobs and weaves her way toward the supplies strewn on the ground, but clears out before she can be injured, taking only an axe and an empty canteen with her into the woods. Reedman races with Terra Whiskart for a spear and loses. She picks up the weapon, considering her options, but Reedman runs before she makes a move.

Giselle Lear also has a spear. And she doesn't hesitate to throw it as Reedman Philips sprints past her. It impales his side, knocking him to the ground. Giselle takes her time retrieving the weapon, then inflicts a fatal wound to Reedman's lungs. He struggles against death for about a minute before going still.

The camera flashes to Hunter Petrelli running through the woods, showing that he made it out of the bloodbath with a pair of daggers and an empty water bottle. The only apparent injury he has is just a scrape on his shin, visible through the rip in his pants. How he acquired the rip is left up to the audience's imagination.

James Roy is in the thick of the fighting, challenging Adele Carisen (armed with a short spear) with a full-length silver axe. She pokes the air in front of James three times, hoping to intimidate him, but hd doesn't flinch. Instead, he fakes with his axe to his right before lunging at Adele straight-on, burying the axe in her chest. Adele's blood splatters on his face, neck, arm and jacket, but James seems unfazed. He takes her spear and runs off, snatching a loaf of bread off the ground on the way.

Colleen Jane Colt, the twelve year old from District Twelve, speedily runs between tributes. She makes a wide circle around the Cornucopia, picking up a lime green backpack, a smaller, bright yellow backback, a full water bottle and two knives. She then returns in the direction of the metal plates, where she first entered the arena. By the time she reaches them, she's slowed to a jog, and then walks to her destination: the beach. She slips down the rather steep hill and tumbles into the sand. It is then and only then that she rests, a half-mile from the other tributes, well hidden from sight.

C.J.'s breaths are short and wheezy, but she manages to put air back into her lungs by taking a few sips of water. I have to admire her speed; it is the only thing that let her make it out of there alive. And she made out well, with lots of supplies in the two bags she grabbed.

Back at the Cornucopia, Terrian Cane from Nine is sitting on Clarence Swanson's back, knife in hand. He lifts Clarence's head and slits his throat, letting his blood spill onto the soft earth. Cari Morae viciously attacks Terrian as he stands up, but is quickly thrown to the ground by Alecsandra Sillago, who just saved her ally's life. Cari snarls, readying her knife to take out her enemies, when Terrian takes her arms from behind, twisting them at unnatural angles.

Now it's Alecsandra who snarls. She takes Cari's knife out of her hand and holds it in front of her for a moment before plunging it into Cari's stomach. She cries out, and Terrian lets her slide to the ground, where she lies in agony.

Channing Keynes, the large boy from Twelve, injures several Careers and other tributes on his quest to get supplies, but doesn't hurt them enough to kill them. He pauses for just a moment after collecting four blades of different sizes, three backpacks, and a full water bottle. He appears to be scanning the area. It's as if he's looking for someone, but I don't think he allied with any of the others.

He takes off. Running as fast as he can with his load, Channing chases little Klara Vanes from the bloody scene into the thick pine forest. She glances behind her, sees her pursuer, and shrieks. Channing only gains on her, though. Soon he's close enough to kill her with the short sword he has, but he doesn't. Instead, he gets close to Klara, nearly on top of her, and knocks her over.

She flips over, scrambling backwards on her hands and feet. She stops four yards from Channing, cornered in a dense cluster of trees. He approaches the trembling girl slowly, speaking softly as he walks.

"Two years ago, my best friend and girlfriend were reaped. They survived the bloodbath together, and even picked up a third ally on the fourth day. That ally was the boy from Ten," Channing says. He talks smoothly, as if the words are rehearsed.

"The alliance lasted about twenty hours before he betrayed them. It was dawn. Then sun had just come up over the horizon. The birds had already begun to sing. And he slit their throats."

Klara whimpers, and Channing stands over her. "Now I avenge them. I volunteered for Lili's brother, and now her and Leo's deaths will be paid for with yours and the death of your district partner. It's nothing personal. Just revenge." And with that, Channing slices open Klara's throat, leaving her to drown in her own blood.

At exactly 2:05, the bloodbath is over. Four hours in, and only six deaths. Eighteen left in the running. But oh, _so_ many injuries. I wouldn't be surprised if most of the remaining tributes bleed out by the third day.

But, in fact, not many things surprise me these days.


	12. Goodnight Moon(less Sky)

**There's already been a great response to my poll, so thank you to all the voters! Please vote for the famous 1,000th death if you haven't yet on my profile!**

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* * *

_Mira Andrelo, District Six_

It's mid-afternoon when I hear the cannons. Or, I _think_ it's mid-afternoon. It must be by now. It's hard to tell, since the depressing gray clouds that cover the sky make it impossible to see the sun.

I count six deaths. Just six. I wonder if the Gamemakers had hoped for a small bloodbath, to make the Games last longer. I suppose I'll never know.

Many would consider me lucky to have made it out alive and unharmed, and I now possess a weapon. I hope this means my ranking will improve. I asked my mentor to check them this morning, and before he sent me off this morning, I was tied for eleventh place. Ideally, I'd be in the top eight. But now that depends wholly on the audience and my ability to stay healthy during the next few days.

As I trek through the forest, farther and farther from the Cornucopia, I get lost in thought. I think about the cannons I heard a few minutes ago. Whose deaths did they represent? Was it my district partner, Hunter? I didn't get to know him well, but he was always kind to me, and I remember seeing him in school. At sixteen, he's a year older than me, so I never had the opportunity to speak to him. Still, if there's anyone I'm going to be sad to see dead, it'll be him.

My mind wanders among a wide range of topics after that; from the lush Capitol bed I slept in last night to how my grandfather must feel, watching me walk alone with no resources and no help from the outside world.

It's not like I have sponsors.

At least, I don't _think_ I have sponsors. My interview went well enough, and a seven in training is good for a fifteen year old from Six. But sponsors support the tributes who stand out. I don't think I made much of an impression. I was ranked eleventh, wasn't I?

No matter. I still have a plan, sort of. I just need to survive. The longer I live, the smaller the pool of tributes will get, and the better chance I have of getting assistance in my victory.

But to survive, one needs water. And I haven't seen any since I entered the arena. I heard waves back on my metal pate, but I didn't get the chance to see if it was ocean or freshwater. And besides, it's an entire day's journey from where I am now, and I continue walking in the opposite direction. There must be some other source of water somewhere. There's been so much propaganda for Thalia Shadows' last Games, how spectacular it's going to be, that letting tributes dehydrate to death would only be disappointing for the Capitol audience.

I'm so deep in thought that I almost don't hear it. The heavy footsteps of a large tribute. Out of instinct, I crouch to the pine-covered ground, taking refuge in the thick foliage. The head of the hunter is just visible through the dense branches. I can't make out who it is, only that it's a male, and he's alone. Adrenaline pulses through my veins, my heartbeat rising. My lungs need oxygen, but I don't dare breathe.

He doesn't see me. The boy walks away, but I remain crouched until well after the sound of his steps has faded. I stand, my heart rate slowly returning to normal. I've just been given a terrifying reminder of how very vulnerable I am.

Surviving may be harder than I thought.

_Crow Wynters, District Eight_

We're lucky. Oh, so lucky. All four members of our alliance are alive and relatively unharmed. I made it out without more than a scratch or two, but my other allies were not so lucky. I told Esthere after our interviews last night to find any form of cover in the arena as quickly as she could, and the rest of us would find her. Because she's so small, I have taken on a protective role of her. Because she is also my district partner, it has become twice as important that I protect her.

Wyatt, Terra and I were lined up in a row (how fortunate!) on our plates, so together we planned for them to go in for supplies while I stuck with Esthere. Once we were safely hidden by the trees, we'd stay put, find a good one to climb and wait for them to find us. They'd know which tree to look for by the rocks or sticks piled up around the trunk.

When Esthere and I found a tree with a wide enough trunk for both of us to climb high safely, I did my best to gather rocks and sticks and lay them around the base of the tree while she climbed. I tried making it look natural enough not to make a passing tribute suspicious, but obvious enough that my allies would know it was me who arranged it.

I did well enough. I know this when Wyatt and Terra arrive on the ground below us just under three hours later.

They survived. I couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped me when I saw them, especially when I spotted the bounty they scored:

A large purple backpack, a blanket, a spear, a short sword, and a loaf of bread. We discovered that the backpack holds another loaf of bread, eight strips of dried beef, a full water bottle, a sleeping bag, ten matches, and a knife.

"I saw other tributes getting away with identical backpacks," Wyatt said after I had finished admiring our supplies. "It's safe to say that they contain the same items, which would mean that we don't have too much of an advantage here."

"But we aren't going to starve. Not yet, anyway," I replied.

Night is falling. None of us have touched the food or water. Instead, we've been traveling deeper into the woods until we found a suitable site to set up camp. All four of us break branches off of pine trees until we have enough to form a small shelter. Wyatt, Esthere and I put it together while Terra keeps watch for other tributes. We aren't afraid of them finding us. Well, we don't want the Careers to come across our camp, but we just hope they find someone else to hunt before they reach our part of the woods, or maybe they won't hunt at all. Sometimes, the Career strategy is to sit in one place and wait for victims to pass. Usually they'll stake out a source of water or some other place that is sure to lure tributes.

But that's just the Careers. We don't worry about other tributes finding us. We've decided collectively that, if the time comes, we're all willing to kill. We won't go down without a hard fight.

When it's almost too dark to see, we gather inside the shelter. The trees are so dense here that, unless you have night vision glasses, it would be impossible to make out our little camp, which takes up the space between four pines. It's hardly big enough to fit the four of us comfortably lying down, but sitting up, it's rather spacious. We sit in a circle and put all the provisions in the center. Terra takes the spear, Esthere takes the knife, and I take the sword. Wyatt opts out of a weapon, saying he'd only end up hurting himself if he had one.

We eat a meager dinner, rationing one strip of beef and slice of bread each, but that's already half the beef and about a fourth of one loaf. I'm just finishing off my food when we hear the anthem. The four of us crawl out of our shelter. The seal of Panem is hardly visible through the treetops, but I position my head in a way that lets me see the district numbers of the fallen tributes clearly.

First is the girl from Two. Under different circumstances, I might be surprised to see a Career gone so early, but not Adele. She seemed cruel and annoying, and I wonder if one of her "allies" was the one who killed her.

Next is the girl from Five, followed by the pair from Seven and both from Ten. Then the seal, the anthem, and the moonless night sky.

So now we know who's left. Wyatt and Terra's district partners are still alive, but neither of them are real threats to us. Not the way Giselle, Lupus, Luciano, Alecsandra and Terrian are...

_Binary Richter, District Thre_e

The red pack I snatched at the Cornucopia is for bathing. I almost throw it away in frustration; what use is it to us? How are Ave and I supposed to live off of soap, deodorant, hand sanitizer, a small towel and a comb? But Ave likes it, it's probably the only one of its kind in the arena, and she convinces me that I'm going to want it in a week, when filth has made me almost as unrecognizable as hunger.

Besides the pack, we have a long, full sword. Ave is too small to use such a weapon, but I can handle it okay.

We choose a tree and climb, hoping to get as far from the ground as possible, since we haven't traveled far from the Cornucopia. It's hard to climb with the sword, but somehow I manage to not slice myself too bad.

I'm older, so I offer to take the first watch. My token, an old wristwatch that belonged to my father, will keep track of the two hours I'll be up before we switch. Then I'll trust it to Ave to watch the time.

My ally finds a comfortable spot, leaning against the wide trunk on a thick, sturdy branch. I keep my eye on her, keeping up my end of our deal; I won't let her roll off the branch if she won't let me.

Almost immediately, I regret taking the first watch. Not only am I exhausted from the running and terror I experienced earlier, Aviary starts snoring softly shortly after my shift begins. I want to wake her, to keep her quiet, but it wouldn't be fair. I decide that I'll just have to rouse her if anyone comes near.

The arena air has been extremely sticky. It's hot and muggy, which we only experience in District Three once in a while. It's my least favorite weather, made worse by the heavy cloud cover. And the night has done nothing to cool me off. I know from experience that the high humidity means rain. I just hope it's a cold rain and comes soon. The quicker it rains, the faster the air will cool.

At 11:15, I wake Ave. It's her turn. She takes my watch and I shift to a comfortable (ish) position. As soon as I try drifting to sleep, I realize it's futile. I'm far too nervous, even with my exhaustion, to leave Aviary alone to defend us. She can't handle our only weapon without hurting herself.

I feign sleep because I know that if Ave knows I'm awake, she'll insist on staying up too. And at least one of us needs to be well-rested in order to face the days ahead.

It comes about half an hour later. The rain. But it isn't a drizzle, or even a downpour. The drops of water assault us. It's lukewarm and falls hard and fast, and painful. I jolt up, covering my head with my arms. The tree branches above do little to slow the rain.

"What time is it?" I ask, but I know Ave hasn't heard me. The noise of the rain is deafening. I can't even see my ally, who I know sits just a foot away. A dense fog has begun to sink into the trees. As if the darkness and rainfall haven't blinded us enough.

"What time is it?" I shout, and I hear a faint reply through the noise. "What?" I ask, leaning in Ave's general direction.

"I don't know!" she repeats. "I dropped the watch!" Of course. She must have been as startled as I was by the sudden rainfall, and the force of the water could have easily knocked the watch out of her hand. The strap, we had found, was too big for her tiny wrist.

Though it feels like an eternity, the rain does stop. The clouds clear rapidly, revealing a brilliantly bright moon. The fog persists, but at least I can make out Ave's shivering shape next to me. Our jackets are waterproof, but our pants and sneakers are not, and both of us are soaked from the waist-down.

I was right about the air cooling after the rain as well. It gets significantly more comfortable, but I too begin to shiver in the night air.

Ave offers to climb down and retrieve the watch. When she returns, it's covered in mud, but still ticking. The time is 12:16. "It was almost midnight, the last I checked. And that was a couple minutes before the rain started," she says. I frown. That means the rain lasted only fifteen minutes. I suppose this shouldn't surprise me. I'd already decided that the rain was Gamemaker-made. Nothing natural hurts that much or starts and stops so suddenly.

_At least it was water, _I think gratefully. _And not acid or ice._

Aviary lets me "sleep" for the remainder of her shift. When she tells me it's time to switch, I take the watch and watch the moon slowly move across the sky. Dawn comes at 5 a.m., on the dot. When I wake Ave, she scowls.

"You were supposed to wake me at 3:15," she says, though I can tell she isn't angry.

"You hungry?" I ask, changing the subject. "I am."

"Maybe there's edible plants around," says Aviary. "I did well on the test in training. We could look around for bushes, or maybe there's a field with grains. Though I've gone longer without food. I'll be okay for another day, maybe."

"Let's scavenge. I'm no good at it, but with your help, it shouldn't be too hard." We climb to the ground. "Which way?" I ask. She opens her mouth to reply.

That's when we hear the footsteps.


End file.
